In the captain’s seat, they sat.
The ship twists and turns,
Rocks hit our foreheads,
And tatters our feet to work rides.
Still, they pour champagne.
Laugh and pour champagne.
Silenced mind of the masses, their roll-the-drum
Yet the other cheek salutes the air.
In a toothless tirade
As “Lame is the ship’s state”,
“Enthusiastic was its slaughtered skin.”
“They know ‘no’,”
The lame shouts at the wall
The wealthy state, wealthy underfoot,
Come beggar
Among nations of made-in, be right.
Yet bowl in hand, it dances.
With the lowest of low
The voice for change cowered
Yet death is the health house.
Across the sea, meet the health house.
We know they know ‘no’
Adrift we flow for five tens and two.
In the journey to the same, same place
Same place,
Of a zero library, of endless cry
Yet to topple the inane power.
The power is in the voice.
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